


the price we pay (we can't afford)

by saltandburnit



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, M/M, Not Really A Happy Ending, POV Multiple, Two Shot, neutral? bittersweet? borderline bad..?, not exactly a character death either but I had to tag it to be safe, this is all based on how you see it tbh, why is that a tag why is that important, you tell me tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandburnit/pseuds/saltandburnit
Summary: Everyone knew what the price of soul-trading was, especially so when it involved protecting other people. You gave up your life for a chance that your beloved will claim it instead. And even though you would be long gone, at the very least they would have a shot at a long, fulfilling life of their own.But sometimes- sometimes the witch reveled in pain and sometimes “long” was more than one could bear alone.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The cold air rattled his exhausted lungs and he was still not running fast enough. His face stung with every snowflake that touched his warm skin and he still didn’t notice the cold. He slipped on the ice that had formed beneath his feet and he still couldn’t tear his desperate gaze away from his destination. His heart hammered in his chest as he ran a distance he shouldn’t be able to in this kind of storm with frantic thoughts filling his mind, blurring his reason until all else had gone away but his sole purpose.

_Faster, faster, faster… Viktor…_

He didn’t- couldn’t know exactly where he was going. Once he realized his feet were moving towards a specific location anyway, he knew he was going the right way.

 

_“Mama…?” he asked, brown eyes full of all the innocence befitting of an eight-year-old. “Mama, who’s the Lady of the Flowers?”_

_His mother paused, her fingers still tangled between soft tufts of raven hair where she was brushing away the knots. “It’s just a folktale, my boy,” she muttered, hoping her son would be unable to pick up on the tension created by his words. “Don’t bother yourself with it.”_

_Little Yuuri tilted his head upwards to take a good look at his mother. “But_ mo-om _, Takeshi-kun said she can grant_ wishes _! Isn’t that cool?”_

_Hiroko took a deep breath to steady herself, unsure as to how to handle the subject without crushing her youngest’s innocent (naive) little heart. With a sigh, she gathered the boy deeper into her arms, cradling him tightly against her chest. “Now, Yuuri, some people may have power but more often than not they’ll ask for something in return.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It may be different every time. But my boy, some prices are not worth paying.”_

_She planted a soft kiss on his hair. “Don’t seek the witch out, Yuuri. Never seek her out.”_

“Are you looking for something, Yuuri? Some- _one_?”

His mother’s words echoed loudly in his head, almost accusatory of his betrayal, his foolishness, _how selfish, how stupid_ as an unfamiliar voice whose source Yuuri could never mistake stopped him dead in his tracks. His previously frantic heart felt like it stopped in its terror. Those big brown eyes once so full of innocence watered with tears once the regret washed over him. What was he doing? What _was he doing_?

“ _Yuuri~?”_ came a different voice, gentle and a loving and achingly familiar, thick with an accent and- what _the hell_?

His head snapped back to the source, gaze wide and terrified to find only a woman looking at him with a guilty smile twisting her lips. Wait, no- was that a smile? It looked wrong somehow. Unbelonging.

“Whoops,” she giggled. “Sorry about that. Tasteless joke, wasn’t it? You seemed ready to flee though, so I thought I’d remind you of what you’re here for…”

The blood running in his veins felt impossibly cold. “You… you know already?”

“Sure I do,” she shrugged, the poster girl for nonchalance. “It gets rather boring to hear everyone ramble on about their life stories when they come to me. I’m not a psychologist. I’m… hm… let’s say, I’m a gift giver.” She frowned at the broken scoff she received. “You don’t believe me?”

He took a good look at her. For a woman whose reputation had come long before his birth, she appeared to be around the same age as him, with pale skin and rosy lips twisted into something that couldn’t convince him of a smile. Long brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in waves with a single satin bow tied in between, granting her a facade of innocence. A facade which was purposefully unconvincing if you bothered to look past your own wishful thinking.

“Has _anyone_ ever believed you?”

Her resemblance of a smile turned into a truly vicious smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be a nervous one? What would happen if you insult me enough for me to refuse your wish, Yuuri?”

He panicked then, just as she had predicted. “N-no, wait- wait, please…” He hated himself for it.

Her laugh was hollow, much like everything else about her. False, two dimensional, fake, fake, _fake_. “So tell me, Yuuri, what _is_ your wish?” And he was too busy looking down to see the glimmer in her eyes.

“I want you… I want you to save Viktor. I _need_ you to save Viktor.” He knew the desperation pouring freely in his whispered request could only harm him yet he found himself unable to halt his fear before it flowed through his words, as it had from the moment he had known there was something wrong with the one person that mattered to him the most. His fists clenched at his sides. _I’ll do anything,_ he thought but tried his hardest not to voice, even if he suspected she would know regardless.

The woman hummed in acknowledgment, a drawn-out sound, tinted with what could almost be mistaken for pleasure. “Now you’re talking. Care to elaborate on that?”

“E-Elaborate?” he stammered, feeling the familiar sting of tears pooling in his eyes. “I… I want him to wake up tomorrow… and be okay…” A sob wracked his frame as his mind went back to his beloved husband, so very out of his reach.

The witch took a few steps closer to him, each movement graced with confidence and a magnetizing elegance. “All right, Yuuri. Viktor will be back with you tomorrow, yes? That’s what you want?” Yuuri nodded, once, twice, each move sharp, out of sync. “Shall I give him a week?”

Any relief that might have managed to blossom at her words was crushed in an instant. “E-Excuse me?”

“Should I give him a week and then come back for him? I have to take him back eventually, right?”

“Wait, no-”

“How about a month?”

“But-”

“Uh, two maybe? I could go for two-”

“Wait, _please_ -”

“You really complain a lot. I mean, he could _die tomorrow-”_

_“NO!”_ Yuuri screamed, a shaky hand grasping at his chest as he panted. Tears flowed freely from his eyes now, blurring his already faulty vision enough for him not to see the expression the other wore. “No, _no!_ Why are you doing this?!”

“What? Should he _never_ die? Is _that_ what you want…?”

Perhaps he was too upset to hear the dangerous edge in her voice.

“Yes,” he choked out.

The witch smiled-was that a smile? Truly?-. “Your wish is my command.”

 

Yuuri returned home that night feeling hollower than he thought he would. Viktor would be fine- he _had_ to be, she had promised. So why did it feel as though a part of him he didn’t even know he had, was suddenly gone, missing? Left a vast emptiness in its place that threatened to swallow him whole? Perhaps souls were heavier than one would think they were.

He heard his name being called, turned to find his sister looking over at him, eyes narrowed but the barest hint of concern was there for those who knew her well. Her brows furrowed as she took in his state.

“We were looking for you. What happened?”

The calm tone did not help ground him as it normally would. Instead it brought this new reality of his crashing down on him. With a wretched sob, he allowed his knees to crumble underneath him. He ended up in a mess of limbs, choking, sobbing on the floor while Mari, who tried hard to mask her alarm, wrapped strong arms around him, pulling him close.

“Shush, shush. It’s okay, Yuuri, it’s okay. It’s going to be fine- hey- Come on now. Breathe with me. Come on. One, two. Shush, shush…” Her sweet nothings went on for the longest of moments. It felt like hours to him but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Eventually his head fell limp on his sister’s shoulder, salty liquid staining the fabric there. Her whispering continued until it somehow, impossibly, lulled him to sleep.

 

 

_What if it didn’t work?_

The deal wasn’t clear in all the ways it counted. He realized that far too late, when the next day his wish took its sweet time being granted. She had never specified the time. And Yuuri spent the entire day drowning in nerves, cursing himself and his naivety and his _hope, such desperate, gut wrenching hope,_ whose loss at the end of the day would _kill_ him.

_Please, please, make it work._

He had grown tired of the hospital walls surrounding him, day in, day out. They were better than being home _alone._ He was sick of the mildly uncomfortable chairs that turned downright torturous by the time nightfall came by and he was still there.

_It was foolish, but I’d do it again._

He got weary of the sound of his own voice that never got a reply, even though it would chatter endlessly as though there was something, anything to say. The idea of stopping his incessant muttering sent a searing pain to his chest, tied his stomach into knots.

_Just let it be real_.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his pants. With sluggish motions, he pulled it free, barely glancing at the text alert before typing a quick reply. Mari wanted to know if he was coming home soon. Not yet. Not once had he said yes that first time she asked. It took a lot more texts than that for his determination to crumble for the night, for his helplessness to exhaust him enough to leave. Not yet.

Yuuri leaned forward on his chair, hastily placing aside his glasses to bury his face in his hands. Deep breaths. One, two. There you go. Nothing was set it stone. The day was not over yet. Deep breaths. No, he wouldn’t cry now. Not _yet_. Deep breaths. One-

“Yuuri…?”

The sound that began in his lungs was a gasp, yet by the time it came out it had already turned into a sob. A choked, terrified sob that slipped through parted lips as tears pooled at the corners of wide eyes. Never before had Yuuri hated his own tears so much, because he couldn’t see, he couldn’t _see dammit_ and he _needed_ to see him, he needed-

_Viktor… Viktor Viktor Viktor…_

“Vik-” he choked once again on his own words, trembling lips breaking into a smile that bordered on hysterical. A hand came to grasp at his shirt, right at the place where his heart was pounding excited against his ribcage. “ _Viktor…_ ” he breathed, relief pouring out of his system with one single, precious word, a beloved name.

The man on the bed -pale, tired, but _alive_ , so very much alive _-_ frowned in such concern, Yuuri was surprised his bawling hadn’t gotten worse at the sight. “W… Why are you… What happened?”

He tried, he really did, to get the words out, to explain, to apologize, to shower him with love and kisses and promises, but at that moment, with his husband’s exhausted yet achingly familiar voice ringing in his ears, all he could do was allow his personal walls to crumble. A loud wail shook his hunched over frame, before he threw his arms around the love of his life, burying tear stained cheeks into the other’s chest. He cried then, cried out his fear, his worry, his relief. He poured all of his love into the embrace, the touch, the tears, because even if he couldn’t speak right now, he was certain that someway, somehow Viktor would understand.

A pale hand found itself carding through locks of dark hair.

He understood.

 

It took a while for them to notice anything was wrong. Long enough for Yuuri to almost be able to forget, to pretend his meeting with the witch was nothing more than a fear-induced nightmare and the miracle that saved his beloved’s life was nothing sort of that- a miracle. Hoping it would never come up again was delusional at best.

It came with an offhanded comment that sparked one of the worst conversations they were bound to have. Because when you’re giving up your life to save someone who loves you just as much, the line between selfishness and selflessness tends to blur into nothing.

“Yuuri, what is that on your back?”

He was reaching for one of their larger plates from the top of the shelf, when Viktor’s voice interrupted him. His shirt must have been pulled up a little with the movement, enough to reveal… _what_ exactly?

“Huh?” he mumbled, twisting and turning to try and get a glimpse of what his husband had noticed.

Viktor chuckled at the motion, before coming up behind him to take a better look himself. “Well, I know you couldn’t have gotten a tattoo overnight, since I was with you the entire time, so what _is_ that?”

Yuuri let out a small squeak as Viktor pushed his shirt upwards, out of the way to reveal the mark underneath. The chuckle was back, only to quickly be replaced by confusion. “It _does_ look like a tattoo. A… flower? Some kind of flower? Lilies, maybe?”

His entire body became frigid under the touch. _Lilies_.

“Yuuri?” Viktor called softly, concern lacing his voice at the sudden change. “What’s wrong?”

_Funeral flowers. Lilies are funeral flowers._

“You didn’t get a tattoo, did you?” he gave out a soft laugh that rang hollow between them.

_It was real. It was all real. And she’s going to come for me._

_“_ Come on, love. What aren’t you telling me?”

_I’m going to_ leave _you._

It’s that final thought that broke him. He crumbled into Viktor’s arms- poor, unsuspecting Viktor, who could do nothing but hold him close, whisper sweet nothings into his ear, unaware of the terrible terrible truths that plagued his beloved-. They remained there, on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, holding each other close, his sobs and Viktor’s attempts at comfort surrounding them.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, sweetheart, shush, shush, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I’m right here… Hush now, hush,” he whispered, the words full of such warmth it could almost mask the deep worry lurking within them. “Come on, _luchik_ , it’s okay, it’s okay…”

Viktor had gotten significantly better at comforting him since that first time in China. But there was no calming the storm of emotions that plagued a rapidly beating heart that could count the beats left to give before they stopped for good. And if Yuuri could withstand the fear of dying when the feel of his loved one’s arms around him reminded him of the reason he had ended up here in the first place, he could not outrun the guilt of what was going to happen once he was gone for good.

“I’m sorry!” he sobbed and Viktor pulled his trembling frame closer. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry- Viktor, _I’m sorry_.” Viktor, bewildered, tried to assure him it wasn’t his fault. _It is, it is, you don’t know yet. You’ll hate me. Heavens, you’ll hate me. “_ P-please… Viktor… please don’t h-hate me…”

“Yuuri!” he exclaimed, hurt crossing his face as though he had struck him. “Yuuri, what-?”

“ _Forgive me…_ ”

And the sound was so small, so broken that Viktor could not find it in himself to talk. With a pained expression of his own, he held him close, rubbing small circles on his back, until Yuuri managed to calm himself down enough to speak.

“I…” he breathed, shaky and tired and sounding so _lost._ “I need to tell you something.”

 

So he spoke. He spoke of urban legends they shared as children, he spoke of his mother’s warning, of the absurdity of it all. He spoke of Viktor’s accident, of going day in day out not knowing if he was going to come back to him. He spoke of his own helplessness, of his own selfishness -because yes, he knew, he _knew_ he was selfish, he’s so _sorry-._ He spoke of a lady at the edge of town who had offered him what he needed.

Viktor didn’t speak. Not for a long while. Not until Yuuri’s breath started to come short once again as the silence suffocated them both.

“Viktor, _please-_ ”

“This is quite an elaborate story for a joke, Yuuri.”

He paused, his expression contorting in something akin to horror. Not just because Viktor thought he was joking -really, who wouldn’t?- but because of the way he had spoken. It sounded… wrong. Fake. _Fake_ like the false cheer he used to save for the cameras, like the smiles that never reached his eyes, not the way they did when it was _him_ with whom he was smiling.

“If you don’t want to tell me the truth, _fine,_ but don’t-”

“This is the truth, Vitya. I’m sorry. I-” Yuuri paused, wondering how much he should say. “I’m not sorry that I did it. But… but I am sorry that I’ll hurt you.”

“Provided you are telling the truth…” Viktor whispered in a tone Yuuri had heard him use very few times before. His gaze fell to the other’s hands. Viktor was _shaking._ Viktor was _livid_. “What the _hell_ do you mean you’re not sorry?”

Yuuri flinched at swear, at the anger he could see underneath the cold exterior he was projecting. “Vik-”

“Do you have so little regard for your- your _life, Yuuri, your life!”_ He was on his feet now, closing the distance between them in two strides. A pair of warm hands grasped his tightly, shaking with something between anger and desperation. _“_ Please, please, tell me you’re joking!”

Yuuri ignored the familiar sting in his eyes. “I- I can’t. I’m s-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry when you’re _not!_ ”

Silence fell over them, thick enough to cut with a knife, fragile to break with a single breath.

Viktor gently lowered their hands, his gaze fell down to them, softening at the light glint of their rings. “What does it mean… for you? What does it entail?” Yuuri wanted to kiss away the sadness in his voice. _I didn’t want this. Why did I tell him this?_ But dying without telling anyone what he did, without facing their consequences, would have been the coward’s way out and he had done enough selfish things for this lifetime. “You’ll just… just…” _die “… go?”_ So he couldn’t say it, not yet. “Will you go to- to hell- _Is_ there a hell? What am I even saying? What’s happening?”

Laughter bubbled at his throat, a breathless, hysterical sound. It broke Yuuri’s heart to hear.

And he didn’t know what to say. He had no idea himself what to reply to that. Because he hadn’t _thought_ about himself when he had made the deal, not outside his need to see Viktor again. He hadn’t thought any further than-

“I love you…” Yuuri whispered for there was nothing more he could say, nothing more he _wanted_ to say at that moment to make him understand.

It was his turn to comfort Viktor, for the loss that was rapidly coming his way, ready to strike at any time. He did so gladly, nuzzling his cheek on top of his head, running his fingers through silky, silver hair.

“I love you,” he breathed with his entire being and he thought that even if the witch were to take his soul, there was no one who could take his heart away from Viktor.

 

It was hard to move on with that knowledge. They tried. Oh, how they tried. They went through the days happy and carefree, living in full domestic bliss most of the time, traveling when they could. Neither of them said it, but to Yuuri it seemed as thought Viktor was trying to cram up experiences for him before his time was up. It wasn’t _unpleasant,_ exactly. But there was always a lingering fear in everything they did that tainted the silences between their laughter, tensed the quiet times in each other’s company. The marks in his body came and went, various flowers adorning his skin every once in a while, a promise, a reminder… and quite possibly a bit of a tease, if his brief meeting with the witch could be a clue to her personality. There was no pattern to it however. They couldn’t serve as a sign or a countdown to how much time he had left.

What they did was cause Viktor’s touch to linger over them slightly, his gaze softened and pained at the physical reminder of his inescapable fate. And of the reason it was that way.

See, it wasn’t that Yuuri would never die in the first place. Of course he would, they all would. But the circumstances, the _when_ looming above them like a weight preparing to fall made it too difficult to handle. And as for Viktor, well, Yuuri was scared to ask how he felt. What it was like, to know the only reason you were alive and breathing at that moment was because of a spell- no, a _curse_ , a terrible curse that would eventually take away your whole world from you.

Little did they know then, that wasn’t even the whole story.

 

Yuuri woke up to soft kisses on his cheek, his neck, his forehead. He groaned, still groggy with sleep.

“Yuuri…” Viktor all but cooed between his featherlight kisses. “Yuuri, love, wake up…”At his whiny _no_ , he graced his ears with a soft, teasing whine of his own. “ _Luchik,_ I have to go…”

“How’s that _my_ fault?”

Warm laughter, close enough to tickle his ear, caused his heart to flutter. Brown eyes opened lazily to cast a sleepy gaze on the man on top of him. Viktor beamed at the sight. “Good morning, _solnyshko_.”

Yuuri let himself relax at the familiar endearment. “If you tell me you woke me up to bid me goodbye, Vitya, I swear-”

Tender lips against his own interrupted that thought. Viktor smiled into the kiss and Yuuri happily returned the gesture despite having been so unfairly woken up. “ _Vitya…_ ” he broke the kiss, a content expression brightening his features. “Go. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Viktor paused for a second, his face freezing into his smile. A curt nod later he left the room and Yuuri felt the pang of guilt to which he was almost used by now. I’ll be here, he had said, when there was no way he could guarantee anything close to that.

Following his husband’s departure, Yuuri took his sweet time getting up. In his much needed day off, he went through the motions of his morning routine, before taking Makkachin out for a walk. By the time they had returned it was close to lunchtime and Yuuri scrambled to find something to make with the limited provisions they had in stock- really, how had they managed to run out _again_?

His phone rang sometime while he was preparing their lunch and he answered with a grin in his voice, thinking it was Viktor to tell him he was going to be home soon. What greeted him on the other end of the line was, indeed, his husband, however he was anything but happy to return home.

“ _Yuuri…?”_ he called, voice uncertain. Yuuri froze in his spot. He couldn’t remember the last time Viktor had sounded so _scared_.

His chest constricted painfully, but he forced the words around the lump in his throat anyway. “Viktor? Are you all right? What happened?”

He could hear heavy breathing from the other side and Yuuri felt like crying at his own helplessness. What was happening? Why- _“Yuuri, what exactly- What did you agree to?”_

“What do you mean? Viktor, come home. Where are you?”

_“What was the_ deal _, Yuuri? What did it entail?”_

Makkachin came to whine at his feet, sensing his distress. He absentmindedly placed shaking fingers on the dog’s fluffy curls. “I- I already told you! What’s going on?”

“ _Yuuri…”_ The raw terror in his voice made him sound so _young._ Yuuri had to lean against the wall to steel himself against the pain at the sound.

_“Yuuri, I think I can’t die at all.”_

 

He came home eventually. It wasn’t something they could discuss over the phone, after all. Viktor walked through the door and Yuuri’s heart stopped at the sight. His clothes were torn at places, blood stained his skin. But the horror in his eyes was more terrifying than anything else. Never had Viktor seemed so shaken. Never had he looked more like the world was crumbling above him and he couldn’t hold it in place no matter how hard he tried.

“Viktor!” Yuuri cried out, running to his side immediately, yet pausing just out of his reach. Should he touch him? Would he hurt him? His hands hovered in front of him with uncertainty.

Viktor opened his arms to greet him. “It’s okay…” he muttered. Yuuri’s mind screamed. _Empty empty empty_. “It’s okay, I’m not hurt.”

He buried himself in the embrace anyway, more for his sake than anything else. “How- how are you not hurt? What happened?”

The smile he received was cold enough to send a chill down his spine. “Yes, how indeed. I had an accident, Yuuri. One that- that, frankly, should have killed me. Again.” Yuuri flinched at the comment. “But there’s not a scratch on me. I mean it bled for a while, you can see that. But it _went away_.” Viktor lowered his gaze to catch that of his husband’s. “How did it go away, Yuuri?”

The lack of endearment in his words, in any of the words he had spoken since he had walked inside was suddenly unnerving. He understood what Viktor was accusing him of, though for a moment he allowed himself to breathe with the relief that Viktor was alive, he was safe, before he tried to figure out how that came to be.

It was true. He and the witch, they never specified when Viktor would eventually… perish… she had just teased him about it, until- Wait.

_Wait._

“Oh… Oh no…” he whispered, mostly to himself, as all color drained from his face. “No, no, no…”

_Should he never die? Is that what you want?_

“Yuuri?” Viktor called to him and in the cold gaze he was still trying to maintain there was a hint of fear, unable to be hidden from someone who knew him so well. “Yuuri, what is it?”

“She couldn’t have… It couldn’t have been allowed, could it?”

Viktor’s grip tightened. “Yuuri?” He struggled to keep his voice even. “Yuuri, please tell me I’ll get to live and I’ll get to _die_ like a normal person, not too long after you?”

Guilt grasped at his heart, twisted it in all the wrong ways, until it hurt to _breathe_. He felt sick to his stomach, struggled to swallow the bile rising in his throat. For no matter how _badly_ he wanted Viktor to live- he wanted him to live _with him_ , or at least with people who made him happy. Had he known what he had asked for, had he known what he had convicted the love of his life to, he never would have-

A hand came to cover his mouth, failing to stifle a desperate cry.

If he couldn’t imagine the thought of living without Viktor for as long as his chance at life would last, then how could Viktor possibly face eternity alone?

There weren’t enough apologies in the world to make up for this.

 

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment where they started to fall apart. But they both knew it was that revelation that eventually broke them. Neither of them would ever admit it out loud, they couldn’t risk another conversation like that. Yet it was obvious it wasn’t a fact they could ignore and move on from. It was more than Yuuri dying for Viktor’s sake now. One of them was bound to die before the other in the first place. What was never supposed to happen however, was for Viktor to be condemned to a life of being alone. With no ending in sight.

Yuuri wondered often, if Viktor had started to hate him for that. Οr rather, most of the time, the real question he asked was _when_ had Viktor started to hate him for that. And he couldn’t blame him, not really. After all, Viktor had more than once confided in him about how awful, pointless his life had been just before chasing him all the way to Hasetsu. And he was going to return to that- no, he was going to return to worse, for there was no one he could keep with him, not Yakov, not Yurio. He was going to return to that life. For good. Perhaps even forever. And what a heavy word _forever_ was when there was truly not an end in sight.

Their silences stretched, not always comfortable as they had once been. The nicknames, the endearments were few and far in between, as though they were afraid to show each other how much they cared for the mere reminder of that affection brought pain and guilt and a desperate longing. Their quest to make the most of Yuuri’s limited time got all but abandoned, for it was harder now to pretend everything was all right. And sometimes, sometimes a treacherous part of Yuuri wished that Viktor could be open about his resentment so at least he would know and maybe- maybe if his heart allowed it, he would finally be convinced to leave, because even if he could feel himself shattering at the thought, maybe it would bring Viktor some relief and he owed him at least that.

“Yuuri?” Viktor brought him back from his thoughts once again. “You’re quiet,” he noted, peering at him from the other end of the couch.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Aren’t I always?” _Aren’t we both quiet these days?_ “I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

And that was that.

 

Viktor found him that morning, studying himself in front of the mirror. When their gazes met, Yuuri quickly lowered his shirt and turned to greet him with a smile brighter than it had been for a long time now. “Good morning,” he sighed, his eyes a little blurry in a way that had nothing to do with his missing glasses.

“Good morning…” Viktor muttered back, somewhat taken aback by the sudden change in behavior.

Yuuri approached him, the smile never leaving his face. He took one of his hands in his own, tugging forward ever so gently. “Viktor, let’s- let’s do something today! Please?”

Viktor continued to stare at him, confused, for a little while longer until his gaze softened and his expression broke into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but it was sincere in its emotion. Even after everything, it was hard to deny him anything. Especially when he was asking like that, so full of a contained excitement. “All right, _luchik._ What do you want to do?”

Yuuri closed his eyes briefly at the nickname, his own smile widening just a hint. “Let’s go to a rink.”

“An ice rink?” Viktor tilted his head. It was incredibly endearing, though Yuuri refrained from telling him that. He could understand the surprise in his voice. Although less often following their retirement, the two still frequented the ice rink.

Yuuri shook his head. “A public one.”

“What? _Why?_ ”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” He laughed at the incredulous expression on the other’s face. “ _Please,_ Vitya?” He ignored the shock the mere use of the familiar nickname caused, instead focusing on Viktor’s exasperated shake of the head that was full of fondness.

He wondered if Viktor had known then. If he had felt it too.

Or if, this entire time, all he had needed to do for them to be at least a little bit closer to okay again, was _try._

Viktor would always meet him halfway after all.

 

They followed Yuuri’s wish and went to the public rink. They wore borrowed skates and found themselves more crowded than they had ever been on the ice. And yet they laughed and joked and sincerely enjoyed themselves, in a place that was both familiar and brand new, the perfect combination to ease the discomfort of them both. They skated in circles, danced with the music to the point where the crowd around them stopped to stare at them instead and for once, Yuuri wasn’t embarrassed, merely blushing a hint, enough to bring a bright grin to Viktor’s face. The sight of it made Yuuri pleased with himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt something even a little akin to that.

He treated his husband to lunch, laughed at the fallen look on Viktor’s face at his insistence to be the one to pay for it. They even went to that one Asian restaurant whose katsudon Yuuri had deemed worthy enough. Not as good as his mother’s, but a satisfying alternative when he couldn’t be home.

Their afternoon found Yurio joining them, begrudgingly at first, though he seemed to relax as well once he noticed how much more at ease the two seemed with each other that day. He scowled at Yuuri with a look of utter disgust when the man attempted to hug him before he left. To everyone’s surprise, in the end he gave in. Half-heartedly, but it was more than Yuuri could have hoped for. He wondered if Yurio had sensed it too.

It was later that night, cuddling in bed, where Yuuri found himself at peace for the first time in a long while that Viktor finally questioned the events of that day.

“So, love… want to tell me what this was all about?” he whispered next to his ear, hot breath reaching his neck, sending a shudder down his spine.

Yuuri buried himself deeper into his arms. “Is it that odd for me to want to do something fun with you?”

Viktor was quiet for a moment. “No…” he admitted, raising one of Yuuri’s hands to his lips to plant a soft kiss on his knuckles. “I guess we just haven’t done that in a while.”

He sighed, a sound full of contentment. “We should have. But better late than never, right?”

Viktor planted another kiss at the crook of his neck. It had been so long since they had been this affectionate. Yuuri could almost cry at how comforting his beloved’s lips against his skin were. “Maybe we’ll do it more often from now on.”

He clenched his eyes shut tightly for just a second. They were blurry when they opened again, yet they turned to gaze at Viktor with raw affection as if to distract him from the tears gathering at the edges, threatening to spill free. He shifted in place to face him fully, a trembling smile trying to settle on his lips.

“I love you,” he breathed, because once more, it was the only thing he could say, the only thing he wanted to say.

Viktor frowned at the wetness trailing down Yuuri’s cheeks. “Yuuri? _Luchik,_ are you okay?”

He tried to widen his smile, wobbling though it may have been. He didn’t bother to wipe his eyes, it was too late for that. “I love you,” he repeated and leaned forward to find Viktor’s lips with his own. A fresh wave of tears spilled freely once he was pulled closer to the warm embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered and finally allowed himself to fall asleep, safe in the arms of the person he loved the most.

And he knew, he had known from the moment he had found a black lily tattooed on his skin that morning, that this would be the last feeling he would know.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor never asked to be saved, not this way. But he'd be damned if he didn't return the favor. Over and over and over again, no matter the cost.

 

Light peeked through the gaps left in the blinds, warmth stroking the pale skin it found. Silver eyelashes flickered as Viktor lazily pulled himself away from the sweet comfort of sleep. As he took in the gentle sunlight that cast soft shadows around their bedroom, he sighed, feeling at peace for the first time in a long while. The day before had been… special, different simply because it was familiar, but familiar to how days _used_ to be, back when they were younger and fresh in love, without the looming threat of one stupid, _stupid_ mistake threatening to send the world crumbling around them. He didn’t know what had caused it but oh, he was so damn grateful for it. If their time together was limited, this was how he wanted to spend it. This was what he wanted to remember.

Yuuri remained in his arms, the way he had settled the night before, after he had whispered his heartfelt _i-love-you’s_ that had caused Viktor’s heart to swell in his chest, the same sentiment overflowing and strong enough to hurt. Viktor pulled him closer still, tight against his chest.

“ _Yuuri…”_ he whispered, voice thick like honey. He buried his face at the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “My love, it’s time to wake up…”

He planted a soft kiss to the bit of skin exposed there. The chill of it brought forth a confused frown.

“ _Luchik,_ are you all right? You’re freezing…” Viktor shifted to a sitting position when no reply came forth. “Yuuri?”

_Wait… Wait, no._

Shaking fingers found their way to his beloved’s cheek -so cold, so _cold-,_ tilted it gently so he could see the face of the one person he loved the most in the world. Because no matter how bad things may have gotten between them the last few years, no matter how angry (scared) and bitter (guilty) they had both been, never, not once ( _please)_ had he stopped loving the man who had so easily stolen his heart all those years ago.

“Yuuri…?”

He stroked the tender skin of his cheek, took in the whole of his beautiful, beautiful face _(my sun)_ by touch, until his fingers came to rest just at the top of his lips, lips that had so many times before touched him, breathed him in. And though Viktor’s fingers had more than once for varied reasons rested there ( _”Yuuri, your lips are chapped.” “Won’t you show it to me, Yuuri?”),_ this time there was no gust of breath to gingerly chill his skin.

“Yuuri…” he gasped, the trembling spreading to his entire frame, quickly losing any sense of composure. “No, no… _Yuuri, no…”_

He placed one hand behind his neck, the other on the small of his back and tried despite his incessant shaking to lift him, to pull him closer to him. Yuuri fell obediently into his arms, lifeless as a doll. A choked sob tore through Viktor’s throat.

“ _No_. Not yet, not yet. Please, I- I’m sorry, Yuuri. I’m so sorry…” his voice cracked and trembled and shifted between pained whispers and desperate shouts the longer his pleads went unheard and the limp body in his arms remained unresponsive. “Not now, _please… Please…”_

_“How long did she give you?”_

_“W… What?”_

_“When are you going to… When is she coming for you?”_

_“I-I don’t know. I didn’t ask… I didn’t think-”_

_“Yeah, you certainly didn’t._ ”

Viktor buried his face in his husband’s dark hair, failed to stifle his wails that gave voice to an agony too great to keep inside. “I’m sorry. My love, my _star, please_ , stay a little longer…!” _Please, please, not_ yet, _not_ now.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like this, with only the sounds of his own cries and pleads, whispers of love and affection he should have voiced so long ago. He kept Yuuri in his arms the entire time, even if the coldness of his skin tore at his own heart with a vengeance. And for every plead, a thought would come to mind, of all the times in each other’s company when their interactions would be just as freezing as the body lying in his arms, unable to accept any of the love he was now so desperately giving him.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like this, for Viktor now had all the time in the world and then some, to relive the same pain, day in, day out.

And maybe then, for just a second, he understood how Yuuri could have thrown away his life so hastily, only so he wouldn’t have to live without his love by his side.

 

The idea that the world still moved after one less (brilliant, _precious)_ soul roamed freely in it was hard to swallow. But a death in the family came with responsibilities. Years later, he still wouldn’t be certain whose reaction he had despised the most.

Yurio had been the first to find out. Or rather, Yuri, there was no need for a nickname now, was there? He had gone to their home that day, in a way he hadn’t done in such a long time, because for all the love they held for each other -and heavens, did they love each other- the guilt hung heavy in the air, the resentment dry and stale, the unease palpable in every word. And neither of them could blame Yuri for not wanting to be a part of that. He had tried at first too, to fix whatever problem those two ‘morons’ had. Had been more than a little annoyed (disappointed? _Scared?_ ) when he had failed.

Satisfied things were better, hopeful even, though he would never admit it, he knocked on their door, unsuspecting of the turmoil inside. Despite the lack of reply, he insisted. He couldn’t have known he would come to regret that insistence. He couldn’t have known he would long for an extra second, minute, hour, a _day_ of blissful ignorance, as long as he wasn’t the first one to have to look at Viktor Nikiforov in the eye following the passing of his love, his life.

“Hey, why didn’t you-… Viktor?” he paused, gaping at the sight in front of him.

Viktor himself looked surprised to have gotten up to answer the door. His eyes were wide, though their surprise was barely noticeable compared to their bloodshot state, not when tears still flowed freely from them, barely seeming to register to the man himself. His mouth stood open, agape, as though he wanted to say something yet no word could escape his lips. They closed, they parted, once, twice to no avail. Eventually a sound did manage to break free. A whimper, trembling, broken… a cry _for help._

In all the years he had known Viktor, Yuri had never seen him like this. Not even at his worst times.

“What the _fuck_?” he blurted out, because God forbid he showed him how much that image terrified him. “What the shit happened? Where’s-?”

There it was. That whimper again.

Yuri’s blood ran cold in his veins.

He pushed Viktor aside, bolted for the closest door he could find open to look for the one person that _should_ have been here to comfort Viktor when he was like this and w _hy was Viktor like this and where was-_

And Viktor, poor Viktor who truly shouldn’t have opened the door, slid down the closest wall, drawing his knees close to his chest and tried in vain to ignore the noise in the other room as Yuri yelled with an ever increasing volume at someone who would never listen again, for once failing to sound angry through his choked sobs.

 

The mysterious death of World Class Figure Skater Yuuri Katsuki shook the world and as everyone around him offered their sincere -and not- condolences, Viktor felt himself choking with a truth he could never share, for no one would ever believe him. However, gut- wrenching though it may have been to keep that knowledge to himself, perhaps the only thing worse than Yuri’s furious, half-hearted blaming that was never honest in its nature, even though it should have been, _it should have been, he did it for me_ , was the general lack of blame directed his way. Especially from people somehow too familiar with this situation to ignore his involvement.

Yuuri’s family arrived with the next available flight. It hurt that the funeral wouldn’t take place in Japan, but after a lot of heavy, unbearable discussion it was decided to have the wake and funeral itself in Russia, following the Japanese traditions as much as possible and have the grave itself in Japan. The family wanted to be there for the preparation of the body, something they wouldn’t be able to do, if they were to have him transported.

Which was how Viktor found himself barely holding himself together, staring with blue eyes wide with something between horror and sorrow as Katsuki Mari and Hiroko tried to hold back their tears as they cleaned the body of their beloved brother, their son with something akin to reverence. Not both of them succeeded with that. The raw pain audible with every trembling breath stabbed at his heart mercilessly until he had to turn away, as though the lack of visual contact would drown out the sound, or lessen the guilt twisting his gut into knots.

He let his gaze wander over to the delicate kimono they were to dress him in. In the back of his mind a memory nudged at him, demanding attention. Viktor had tried wearing a kimono once. He had made the mistake of trying to put it on himself though and while he hadn’t failed completely, Yuuri had let out the most indignant squeal when he had almost crossed the right side over the left. _“That’s for funerals, Viktor!”_

His fists clenched at his sides.

Why can’t he breathe all of the sudden?

“ _Yuuri!”_ A voice screeched out of the sudden. It shattered the respectful silence and everyone turned to look at a very hysterical Hiroko shaking uncontrollably against her daughter’s arms. Mari looked panicked and at loss, a state so uncharacteristic for her but her mother’s breakdown had come so suddenly she couldn’t have prepared for it. No one could have. Least of all Viktor who didn’t take long to understand what the woman was screaming about. “ _What is this? What is this?! What did you_ do? _Child, what did you_ do? _”_

He knew enough Japanese by then to understand the screams. Even if he hadn’t there was no mistaking the sight that plighted the grieving mother, the pitch black lily a sharp contrast against deathly pale skin.

She struggled against her daughter’s hold, small body writhing in pain as though physical, loud sobbing making her double over to bury her face in her son’s hair.

Before she buried her gaze completely however, big brown eyes _so much like his_ turned to Viktor instead. She gaped for just a moment, just enough for her mind to connect the dots. Viktor wanted to _scream_ at her, scream at her to yell at him, to blame him, to _hate_ him but he found himself once again unable to speak. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, undeserving though he may have been of it. But he found himself unable to move.

And Hiroko didn’t scream. She didn’t yell, she didn’t blame. No, Katsuki Hiroko nodded once in a grim understanding and hid her face in familiar black locks that she soon wouldn’t be able to touch again. She remembered running her fingers through silky black strands, warning an innocent child of the fate that awaited those who sought out a wish. She would never forget the moment she grieved as the same fate fell upon her pride and joy, her beautiful boy still as naive as he had been. Αs selfish and kind-hearted.

 _“Foolish boy…”_ she whispered. _“You gave away your only chance…!”_

 

Yuuri was taken from him without a warning and he was given no choice. The rest however… the rest he had to abandon on his own. In a way that broke him the most.

It took a few more years for him to ignore his blatant denial and notice how he had stopped aging. Or at the very least slowed down enough for it to seem so. And if he noticed, others certainly would as well. The proper thing to do was plain as day. It was the hardest decision he ever had to make.

The thought of a fake death was tempting, but every time he seriously began to consider it images of others flashed into mind… of Mari’s slowly crumbling composure, of Hiroko and Toshiya’s tearful eyes but also of Yurio shaking with something other than anger, of Phichit for once without a smile, crestfallen as though the world was ending around him. And even if he could never imagine being loved as much as his beloved husband was, for Yuuri was bright like the sun regardless of whether he knew it or not, he couldn’t imagine causing even a hint of that pain to the people he cared about.

“I’m going away.”

Yakov’s sigh at his announcement sounded more pained than exasperated at him like it once had been.

“I just need to… get away. For a while. I can’t be here any longer, Yakov, I-”

“Hush, boy. You’ve never justified yourself to me-not properly at least. You don’t need to start now. Have you told, Yura?”

Viktor’s expression fell. Yuri would not take the news well. They had figured of course that the two Yuris had grown closer over the years, but the toll it had taken on the younger one was heavy. Viktor dreaded the moment he would have to tell the boy he was leaving.

 _The first few weeks after Yuuri’s death were hard. Unbearable. And knowing you couldn’t die made any will to get up and_ survive _dissipate with a lot more ease than it would. Regrettably, not everyone was aware he couldn’t die himself._

_On the fifth day, Yuri was at his door._

_He didn’t knock._

_“Viktor! Open the damn door!” he yelled instead. “Hurry up, old man!”_

_It was odd when the Viktor who opened the door seemed composed, with only the messy state of his hair to betray any turmoil. It would have almost been a good sign, were it not for the dead look in his eyes. Empty, lifeless. Like he was the one who died instead._

_Yuri flinched at the sight. “You look like shit.” He shoved a paper bag on the man’s chest, scoffing as he did so. “Here.”_

_Viktor reluctantly accepted, the barest ghost of a smile trembling on his lips once he sneaked a peek inside. He headed to place it on the kitchen counter, leaving the door open behind him to invite the younger in._

_Yuri frowned once he stepped inside. He had expected a mess. It would have been hard to watch, but it was expected in his grief and he would know how to deal with that. But no. Viktor’s apartment was gathering dust yet it was not messy, save for a small blanket lying in a heap on the corner of the couch. It looked like it hadn’t been lived in, even though he was certain Viktor had yet to find it in himself to go out._

_“For fuck’s sake, Viktor. Have you even gotten out of bed the past few days?”_

_“Technically, I was in the guest room.” He stopped sleeping in that bed the moment the pillow stopped holding Yuuri’s scent._

_Yuri shoved him roughly, a fury that lately came out either half-heartedly or with enough passion to drive everyone a step back, coming out without enough force to hurt. A sound of frustration escaped him, before he spat out his anger at him. “Dammit, Viktor! You can’t do that! Take fucking care of yourself! You can’t- I can’t, I can’t-”_

_Viktor’s expression remained impassive, but a pair of arms wrapped securely around his young protege. The_ I can’t lose you too _hang heavy in the air between them._

When he had first told his friends he was leaving, the first question wasn’t where, as if they knew he couldn’t answer that just yet. It was for how long. And the answer was the same every time: As long as I need to. They would nod, eyes sad, pretending to understand. They couldn’t have guessed that all he needed was _forever._ It was all he had, even if he didn’t want it.

He had hugged a reluctant Yuri, buried his face in Yakov’s shoulder, a quiet but clear thank you for all the years he had taken such good care of him, a regretful apology for being unable to do the same in return. Of all the people, Viktor was certain it was Yakov who understood that he was never planning on returning. He met Chris at the very beginning of his travel, had one last great night of partying with him. It was etched with a kind of sadness, for those who weren’t with him, memories of weddings and celebrations and banquets tainting the laughs they shared until the alcohol numbed every part of him that could remember what it was like to dance without a care in the world with the man he cherished in his arms.

He visited Japan. His family there -because yes, of course they were family, even if he hadn’t found the strength to keep contact- welcomed him with open arms. The grief lingered, ever persistent, but it was safe and it was home. Hiroko who knew very well of the part he had played in her son’s demise, looked at him with nothing but warmth and affection. For a moment he could almost forget what he did.

On his knees, in front of Yuuri’s grave, the slight breeze a soft caress against his cheek, freezing the semi dried tear tracks there. _I love you,_ the words flowed freely from his lips, honest, desperate. _I forgive you,_ stuck at the tip of his lips unable to be spoken, for his loved ones’ pained gazes were fresh in his mind and the uncertain, lonely future loomed too close to him to ignore. _I miss you,_ he said instead. _I miss you so much._

 

His life consisted of either moving every few years so no one would notice how he seemed to never age, or hide in isolation for long enough that it wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t as though he would die if he neglected to care of himself. He would suffer, he would hate himself. He wouldn’t die.

He stopped being up to date with what his friends and family were doing. The temptation to see them again would be too strong to resist. He left them behind together with his old life. The only memento of that time was a simple golden ring now hanging by a chain on his chest (close to his heart). He even went so far as to dye his hair, if only because silver had become too associated to that one world champion in figure skating that one day vanished off the face of the earth. It looked wrong every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, but that was all right because he didn’t do that anymore. There was no need for a reminder of who, what he was. Of how he was still stubbornly here.

That pointless existence continued uninterrupted for the better part of ten years. Your past has a way of catching up to you however. Especially when you’re hiding.

“Viktor?!”

His blood froze in his veins, panic sending his heart into overdrive. A heart that clenched in pain and guilt and lurched with an unbearable kind of _longing_ at the sight he was met with once he turned towards the call. Ten years later, Yuri had changed a lot. Viktor would be damned if he didn’t recognize him anyway.

Bright green eyes looked so _lost_ as their owner struggled to come to terms what was in front of him. It made no sense, how could it? It didn’t matter if his hair was longer, the wrong color. There was no mistaking Viktor Nikiforov, not by him. He wasn’t supposed to still be thirty. He _couldn’t_ still be thirty.

“I’m sorry…?” Viktor faked ignorance with a smile to match, cringed at the sound of his own voice which hadn’t changed a bit.

“V-Viktor… how? Where- How the _fuck-?”_ Yuri was downright trembling by that point, shaking his head in denial.

A heart he thought had stopped feeing years ago, shattered at the words he had to utter. “I’m sorry- do we know each other?”

His eyes hungrily took in the sight of the man his young protege had grown into. His blonde hair was longer, tied clumsily in a loose ponytail. His feminine characteristics had lessened some, given way to cheekbones sharp enough to cut you down. He looked like the twenty-eight year old he was. It drove the knife to his heart to realize how much the boy he had thought of as a little brother, as a son had grown without him by his side.

“Shit, sorry, I - Fuck.” Viktor couldn’t help the wistful smile at the tongue he had yet to outgrow. “Sorry, you just looked like someone I knew.”

“No harm done.” He struggled to keep his voice even. “Take care now.”

It took everything he had to turn around, walk away.

The call from behind would forever haunt him.

“It’s really you, isn’t it? You bastard…”

No- that was wrong.

It was his refusal to stop that would haunt him.

Later, curled in on himself in what passed for a home these days and sobbing until his throat was raw, a traitorous thought slipped through once more. He remembered all those times Yuuri would look at him, a silent question in those big brown eyes, too afraid to give a voice to it. _Do you hate me, Vitya?_

The tremor of Yuri’s voice when he called after him could almost make him say yes.

 

He wasn’t sure when grief and hopelessness led him into a meaningless existence, where he struggled his best to do just that- _exist_. When you had no true needs to give you purpose it was so simple to slip and let go. And so days, then weeks, then _months_ turned into nothing but hours in an existence that had no end in sight. There was nothing he needed and nothing he wanted, nothing to _live for_.

He could pinpoint the exact moment the anger sparked. It must have been decades upon decades upon decades later. Enough time has passed for him to be certain all the people he had once known had already perished. Yuri Plisetski was already dead. He knew that because finally after such a long time, he understood what Katsuki Hiroko had meant when she told the cold body that had once been her baby boy that he had _given away his only chance._

If one were to ask -and there wouldn’t be, because who would know enough to do so-, Viktor couldn’t justify how he could recognize the child that was standing before him. Perhaps it was an ability you got if only you’ve lived- existed- as long as he had. Perhaps everyone would be able to do that if they managed to outlive their beloved ones by that much. Or maybe the witch just decided to grant him that along with his unexplainable immortality.

Whichever the reason, Viktor was certain of two things and suspecting of one: Reincarnation was a thing. He could recognize souls he was familiar with even in the new bodies in which they came.

Yuuri’s soul would not be free to come back.

As the realization hit his core, a small, almost vicious smile tugged at his lips. For once, he was almost glad for all the time in the world he was given.

After all, he had a witch to find.

 

It took him years. He was impatient, not a fool. If she had _tricked_ Yuuri into this mess with careful manipulation and a slip of the tongue, tugging on his desperation to bring forth false judgment, then Viktor who was so much more impulsive than his late husband could not just go meet her and make demands for they were without a doubt going to be used against him.

So he searched, he read, he hit his head against the wall, felt his own blood chill at the stories he read, the folktales he found. He gathered all information he could on witches and demons, soul trading, deals, immortality even. Fought back the screams of frustration when the line between myth and reality was too blurred to make out.

And it was greatly annoying how in the end _she_ found _him._

 

“I heard you were looking for me.”

Nobody approached him these days, nobody knew him to do so. It wasn’t hard for him to figure out who she was. Besides, the openly smug tone matched the description Yuuri had given him perfectly.

“Now, that’s just rude…” he sighed and turned to face him. His eyes narrowed at the the thin blond hair, cut just above her shoulder, matching her pale complexion. That wasn’t… Yuuri hadn’t…

“I’m sorry- did you want to march _victorious_ and demand a negotiation… Viktor?” A sly twist of her lips that didn’t quite resemble a smile emerged at the choice of words. Viktor fought back a groan.

“It _is_ you I’m looking for, right? Because you look… different than what I’ve been told.”

“You’ve been alive for about a century now. Aren’t you awfully bored? Don’t you think I would be too?”

He froze at the comment. A… what?

His fists clenched to hide their tremble even when the realization made his knees threaten to buckle.

She tilted her head at him. “Did that upset you?”

That falsely caring attitude only served to fuel an anger no longer underlying. “Cut that off. Why me, huh? Why _us_? Surely, Yuuri wasn’t the only f- desperate enough to make a deal!”

She sighed, a quick roll of her eyes showing him what she thought of his attitude. “No, he wasn’t. But, unsurprisingly, he was one of the few who had the right to bargain a soul besides his own,” the witch shrugged. “He had rights over _your_ freedom, Viktor. Which meant I could do anything to you so long as he asked for it.”

“What? Wait, why? Why could he bargain _my_ soul?”

“Soulmates get to do that,” she mentioned, matter-of-factly.”

Viktor’s breath caught in his throat. “S-Soulmates…?

“Of course. Yuuri was your soulmate, Viktor. Oh~? Didn’t you know?”

Viktor struggled to take a deep breath. _She’s taunting you. She’s taunting you like she taunted him. Yuuri… No, keep it together. You can grieve the life you should have had later. For now, don’t let her win._

“So I can… bargain for… his soul?”

She didn’t even try to hold back the grin. “What do you have in mind?”

Cold sweat trailed down his back, as realization dawned, cruel and unforgiving.  And even so, even though he understood, the trap was so sweet and Viktor couldn’t stop himself from falling straight into it.

“You had this whole thing planned from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“Humans are easy to manipulate when you’re desperate.”

 

* * *

 

For something so terrifying, he had a strange sense of purpose rushing through his veins as he ran, exhilarated to wherever his feet seemed to lead him, to where he wished the witch would be. One wish, that was all he needed. One wish for a person he cherished.

There was a strange sense of purpose to his movements, a certainty in his steps, like he was heading to where he was always meant to be. It both scared and confused him. As much as he loved the person he was trying to save, the idea that his whole life had led to a moment such as this sent a cold chill down his spine. An existence solely to be given away for someone else? Could that be?

Whichever the reason, a purpose still forced him forward and he let what had to be a strange beckoning he could not understand guide him to where he needed to go.

A dizzying sense of deja vu halted him, when a voice so different than anything he had heard in this life, yet it rang in his ears like it welcomed him home. Despite telling him the exact opposite of that.

“You really need to stop coming here, you know,” called the voice, made of silk of flowing like honey. Though the words themselves were harsh, there was a fond amusement tinting his tone into something warmer. His breath caught in his throat, even before turning to the source, his gaze falling upon a man who looked as though he came from a dream. He had been searching for a witch and he could certainly believe this was the real thing, for the man was nothing short of enchanting, silver hair glistening under the moonlight, ocean eyes staring at him inquisitively.

“I-I’ve never… been here before?” He offered eventually.

“Trust me to know a little more than you do, _dorogoi_.” A smile that portrayed more sadness than humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“W-What did you just call me?”

“Oh, does it bother you? Forgive me, I’d rather not find out your name. I only ever remember just the one, anyway.” He waved him off, though he at least had the decency to look a little sheepish.

He frowned, the confusing situation slowly replacing his previous sense of purpose with unease, even if the man’s presence somehow felt right where he was supposed to be. Shaky fingers grasped at the hem of his shirt, twisted violently. “I-I still don’t understand… Are you- are you the witch Ι’m looking for?”

The other man’s gaze hardened at that, his sweet, easy expression freezing over to be replaced with a bitter coldness. “No. I’m- an acquaintance. I lend her a hand.”

The new aloofness in his behavior sent a pang of pain through his heart, as if he had grown to care about the man enough to feel awful about whatever could cause such a defensive reaction from him. “Why…?”

“Because all wishes have a price, _Yuuri.”_

* * *

Viktor watched on, bittersweet pain, wistful fondness raging in his chest, battling to prevail, even though they could never be allowed to show. Not in front of this innocent soul who had no idea of the history he had with the witch’s assistant currently attempting once again to save him. And what a soul that was; bright and beautiful like the first time he saw it, almost wasting away at the hands of a woman who did not deserve a soul that was once meant to be intertwined with his.

Over the years, Viktor had all but forgotten what the first Yuuri looked like, for every few decades or every few eons he would always return to him, with some deal in his mind, like he would unwillingly always long to find his other half. And he would look different every time, though somehow he would always be just the same, sweet and brave and kind, _his_ Yuuri, always _his Yuuri._ Viktor would fall in love with him all over again. It didn’t matter that their interactions were for but a few minutes each time, just as long as it took to stop him from sacrificing himself once again, because he’d be damned -or more damned than he already was- if he’d let her take this soul once again. Especially after all the trouble he went through to release it.

The man who simultaneously was and wasn’t Yuuri frowned at the name he used. “That’s not my-”

“Like I said,” he interrupted, trying to keep his voice smooth. “Forgive me. But it’s the only one I remember.”

“I-I want to make a deal…”

Viktor shook his head, a sad sigh escaping his lips. “That’s not going to happen, love.” He regretted the use of an English endearment when he saw the flinch. “I’m sorry, but nothing’s worth giving away your soul.”

His heart ached for him once he saw him shake in what he thought was despair, but turned out to be anger instead. “You don’t get to decide that! Not when I’m doing this to save _him!_ ”

A small, traitorous part of him that surfaced every time he and Yuuri had this conversation wondered if that was what Yuuri had sounded like when it was Viktor’s life for which he was pleading.

“Who do you want to save, _dorogoi?” Whose fate is causing you so much pain, my love?_

Yuuri’s expression softened at the delicate tone Viktor used. Eyes whose color might have been different many lifetimes ago still sparkled in the same way. Tears pooled but refused to spill, not yet and Viktor dreaded the time they would undoubtedly do so, as he was about to deny his request.

“My kid…” he whispered, lower lip trembling slightly. _His kid, his brother, his friend, his rival…_ They’ve been over this many times before; soulmates weren’t the only souls intertwining in every lifetime. You’d think that after experiencing it over and over and _over_ again, Viktor would be immune to the pain it caused, without fail, every single time. He wasn’t.

Even less when he would have to refuse.

“I can’t let you trade your soul, love. I’m sorry.”

He was full on panicking now, violent shivers wracking his entire frame, breath coming out in short gasps as he begged and pleaded and already mourned for the life he could not save. “Please- please, you have to! I cant- _I cant-_ ”

With some hesitation yet unable to hold back, Viktor reached out for him, trying not to feel hurt when the other flinched away. “You _can._ You’ll see him again in the next life.”

“You- you really ex-expect me… to believe that?” Yuuri sobbed, unconsciously leaning just a hint closer to Viktor.

A hand came to tenderly brush soft locks of hair away from those beautiful eyes that were pained, so _pained_ yet Viktor knew he had to burden him with this suffering so they would _live._ Again and again like they were supposed to. _You gave away your only chance,_ Katsuki Hiroko had screamed for what had hurt her the most wasn’t her son’s passing but the knowledge that he would never ever be free to come back. He had sacrificed so much to stop that.

“It’s true, love. Do you know how many times I’ve seen you here?”

Yuuri scoffed; a bitter, broken sound. “Is my life this miserable every time?”

Viktor couldn’t prevent a small, albeit sad smile from very inappropriately spreading into his features. “Maybe you just come here to see _me_.”

The barest  hint of a one also tugged on the man’s trembling lips. Bright eyes turned to him with a gentle curiosity. “Why?”

 _Because we too, are meant to find each other in every lifetime._ Viktor placed a hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck, lovingly pulling him just a hint closer, thumb caressing the soft skin there. _Because I love you._ He leaned in, placed a feather-light kiss on the top of his head.

“Take care, _solnyshko_. I’ll see you in the next life.”

Yuuri gaped when Viktor released him, stepped away from him. He stood there a little dumbfounded for a few seconds, before an uncertain expression darkened his soft features. “What if I come see you again?”

Viktor had to close his eyes for a moment, just breathe through it as he shook his head. “I cannot let you do that.”

And his heart shattered once more, as it did every time with the words his beloved spoke, simple, easy as breathing.

“But you’re _lonely_.”

He thought back to a cold body in his arms, desperate pleads to stay remaining unheard. He thought of a deal with a cunning witch that could free the most beautiful soul he had encountered if only _he_ could stay with her, which meant he could never truly be with that soul ever again. He thought of sweet kisses in the dark, laughs full of life, ice beneath his feet and his whole universe in his arms as they spun in a choreography made only with affection. He thought back to the loneliness before he met the love of his life and wondered once again, which kind of _alone_ he hated the most.

“I’ve been lonely for a long time now.”

“But _why_?” Yuuri despaired, almost reaching a hand for him. Viktor couldn’t indulge him. He would never be able to let go if he did.

“Because once I was loved so much, _too much_ and it became the downfall of us both.” Yuuri’s expression twisted into something akin to horror. “So trust me when I tell you not to make this deal.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Leave, my light. Go home. Forget this ever happened.”

With both relief and a traitorous disappointment, he watched the love of his life walk away. Just before Yuuri was completely out of sight however, he turned back one last time, tears in his eyes, a painful whimper on his lips. “I’m _sorry_.”

He wondered then, if Yuuri had realized the truth.

“It’s not-”

He sighed. _It’s not your faul_ t, he wanted to say.

 _I’m sorry, too,_ he settled with instead.

And that thought repeated over and over again until the next lifetime, until the next time he would catch a glimpse of the soul he would always give everything to save.

Even if he failed to save himself in the process.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... do apologize. A little.
> 
> I also genuinely hate the ending but can't bother with this anymore. 
> 
> Next one will be fluffy like Makkachin! I promise you that!
> 
> Once again, find me on tumblr under saltfics.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Well then. This was not how I wanted to actively enter the YoI fandom but it happened anyway. There's one more chapter after this with most of Viktor's POV as well as what happened afterwards of course.
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a comment! It truly means a lot, even more so as it's my first time writing for this fandom. Find me on tumblr under the username saltfics and yell at me there too! Thanks for reading!


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